


A Night Out

by voidstuff (Schadenfreudah)



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: M/M, Misunderstandings, Opera singer Ferdinand AU, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-19
Updated: 2020-06-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:08:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24806710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Schadenfreudah/pseuds/voidstuff
Summary: After a night at the opera with Lady Edelgard, Hubert von Vestra grows enamored with a mysterious opera singer, who just so happens to be his childhood nemesis.
Relationships: Background Edelgard von Hresvelg/Lysithea von Ordelia, Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra
Comments: 4
Kudos: 79





	A Night Out

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone! I've been sitting on this piece for a few months now, but we've gotten permission to post our work from the [Coffee Tea and Maybe Me](https://twitter.com/FerbieZine) zine, so it's time to send my baby off to seek approval.
> 
> My partner for this piece was the amazing [JosieCutsPaper](https://twitter.com/JosieCutsPaper), whose work is incredible and leaves me awestruck every time. You can find their matching artwork [here](https://twitter.com/JosieCutsPaper/status/1274009717405351938), and also embedded within the fic itself in its proper place :)
> 
> With that being said, please support the zine when it comes out because there are so many cool goodies, fics, and art inside, and I hope everyone enjoys!

Staring at the thick, velvet curtain that blocked the stage from view, Hubert suppressed a sigh. He’d never been one for the performing arts—that had always been Empress Edelgard’s milieu far more than his own—and while occasionally he could appreciate a tune, attending the Mittelfrank Opera Company’s latest production was not exactly at the top of his to-do list. He had many, many things to sort out back at the palace—the uprising in the South, for one, not to mention the dozens of politicians in the West who were recently discovered to have been funneling money out of their land into personal channels, and even—

“ _Hubert_ ,” interrupted Edelgard, bemused. With one arm curled around her betrothed’s waist and the other resting on the cushion beside her, she was a portrait of relaxation. “I can practically _hear_ you thinking right now. We have plenty of time to deal with politics later this evening.”

Lysithea huffed out a laugh. “We most certainly do _not_ have time to deal with politics later this evening, my love,” she said to Edelgard. “There’s a cake tasting tonight, remember? We have to decide between strawberry and vanilla by the end of the week, or else the side dishes for the wedding will be a disaster.”

“A disaster of gigantic proportions, I’m sure,” said Edelgard, lips curled into a smile. “Well, there you have it, Hubert—politics will have to wait until tomorrow.” Peering over the balcony, she commented, “I should think the opera will begin soon. I do wish Petra could’ve come—the timing of these negotiations was so unfortunate. No one appreciates Dorothea’s singing like she does.”

Hubert resisted the urge to sigh again and lay back in his seat, hands folded across his chest. He knew he was sporting a glare rather too acrimonious for the most public box in the theatre, but he couldn’t be damned to fake a better facial expression. They’d been waiting for at least fifteen minutes for the curtain to rise, and the long delay was doing nothing to improve his already quite sour mood.

As if on cue, the curtain began to rise, and swells of music drifted up from the orchestra. Standing center stage was Dorothea, hair done up in elaborate braids and body adorned with what was perhaps the laciest dress Hubert had ever seen.

Immediately, a surge of applause rose from below. Hubert almost smiled at that—there was none so deserving of such appreciation as Dorothea, though he’d never admit it to her face, lest he desired a decade of torment and teasing. She had been the Opera Company’s reigning diva since Manuela’s retirement, and her passionate performances had won her the love of many throughout the Empire, though perhaps none so much as her wife Petra.

After a graceful pause, she opened her mouth and began to sing. The melody seemed to flow from her body; at first soft, tenuous, but slowly growing louder, until it reached a despairing wail. As it calmed again, another voice took over—distinctly male, and clear as a bell. Dorothea looked over her shoulder, eyes wide and hand clutched to her heart, as a man stepped onstage.

Hubert’s heart squeezed in his chest, thumping so loud in his ears that even the raucous applause billowing from the audience couldn’t drown it out. This second singer was, without a doubt, the most beautiful person Hubert had ever seen. His long, golden hair tumbled down his back, illuminated by the candlelight shining from the front of the stage. Eyes alight with wonder and—Hubert leaned forward just to see hands clutching the balcony— _love,_ it had to be, for they were so beautiful and luminous it made his pulse race. The orange cloak he wore shook with the movement of his arms as he sang out, and with a shuddered breath Hubert leaned back again, and realized that perhaps there was something to be said for trips to the opera after all.

The remainder of the show sped by as Hubert looked on, dazed. The singer dipped and pranced and laughed and despaired and Hubert was enraptured by all of it, caught up in his swift, fluid movements. 

When the cast took its final bows and the beauty retreated into the wings, Edelgard stretched her arms, wrapping her fingers in Lysithea’s. “That was splendid,” she said proudly, cheeks flushed in pleasure. “I cannot wait to write to Petra and inform her of its success. Dorothea was just _wonderful—_ don’t you think, darling?”

“I do,” said Lysithea, amused by her fiancée’s enthusiasm. “Though perhaps not as much as you. Shall we go down to greet her?”

“Of course,” said Edelgard. Casting a sly glance at Hubert, she added, “I think this trip was worth it, don’t you?”

Hubert nodded, not trusting his mouth to say anything worthy of Edelgard’s attention. The two women exited the box first, and Hubert followed close behind, head filled with thoughts of the golden singer. As they descended from the balcony down to the dressing rooms, Hubert’s palms began to sweat. Perhaps, if Dorothea were downstairs, then—

“Edie, Lysithea, Hubie! Over here!”

Looking up, Hubert was greeted by the sight of Dorothea waving at them, hair now freed from its constraints and flowing freely down her shoulders. 

“Dorothea,” greeted Edelgard, closing the distance between their group and her old friend. “Spectacular, per usual. You never cease to amaze.”

“Oh, stop,” said Dorothea, though she was clearly pleased by the praise. “I was nothing. Ferdinand, on the other hand—what a performance!”

A chuckle sounded from behind them. “Your compliments are excessive, my friend,” an all-too-familiar voice chimed in, “but appreciated nonetheless.”

Hubert’s spun around on his feet, and the smile budding on his face at the sound of the mysterious beauty’s speech quickly twisted into a frown. Though it had been impossible to tell from so high up, Hubert now realized that the ‘mystery’ of the singer was not really a mystery at all. In fact, it was—

“Hubert von Vestra, as I live and breathe!” exclaimed Ferdinand von Aegir, brows shooting up his forehead in a rather pleased looking expression of surprise. “Now there’s a surprise. I haven’t seen you in—well, in _years_!”

_…Ugh._

A groan nearly escaped from his lips at the sound of that voice. Of _course_ the mysterious beauty was Ferdinand von Aegir. Who else could it possibly be to make Hubert’s life more frustrating?

“Ferdinand,” Hubert greeted, lip curling. “As I live and breathe. I thought you’d be following in your father’s footsteps and going into politics; this chance encounter, I must admit, is a surprise.”

“Indeed, I have pursued a rather different path,” Ferdinand said heartily, reaching out to lay a hand on Hubert’s shoulder. “I also never took you as one much for theatre, Hubert—perhaps the Empress has changed your mind?”

Edelgard raised one elegant brow, eyes drifting between them. “Perhaps,” she said, shooting Hubert a coy smile. “Though from what I could tell, Hubert was rather enamored with your performance. In fact… I believe he’s planning to attend the next few shows.”  
  
Ferdinand’s brows raised again. “I am glad I was able to inspire this newfound appreciation for the arts,” he said, his lips curling up into a smile. “And from Hubert von Vestra, no less—a far cry from our days together at the Academy.”

Dorothea exchanged knowing glances with Edelgard, and then said in a voice so calm it was immediately apparent that it was contrived, “Ferdie, dearest, I think we’re wanted inside. Edie, Hubie—it was simply _marvelous_ to see you again. And Lysithea, my love—drop by for tea and cakes sometime!”

With a flourish, she yanked the elbow of a confused-looking Ferdinand, who offered the group a smile and a wave as he was pulled off into the dressing room.

“Well,” Lysithea said after a moment’s pause. “That was interesting, wasn’t it?”  
  


* * *

True to Edelgard’s word, Hubert did show up for the next performance. 

And the next. 

…And the one after that.

It almost seemed like an act of compulsion. Every week he would promise himself that he had absolutely no intention of returning to see Ferdinand sing again, and yet every week—like a hopeless sailor drawn in by a siren’s call—he would sit in the box, concealed by the thick curtain, and watch Ferdinand perform.

There was simply no denying his former rival’s loveliness. His voice was haunting; beautiful and rich, permeating Hubert’s mind and settling in it as if it had always been meant to rest there. And yet it was _Ferdinand_ , who had annoyed Hubert to no end when they were younger with his sanctimonious preaching, who had always intervened when Hubert acted on Edelgard’s behalf. The combination of these two facts was beyond maddening—it was incomprehensible.

And so Hubert had to keep coming back to the nightly performances. Just to figure the whole thing out, of course. There was no need to speak to Ferdinand—Hubert suspected that in a few more weeks’ time he would tire of this nonsense and forget about the whole thing, an endeavor which would surely be soured by a lingering attachment on Ferdinand’s part.

It was in the wake of one such evening that, still transfixed by the performance and staring at the long curtain, Hubert had been so out of sorts that he hadn’t noticed the figure approaching him until he felt a tap on his back.

“Hubert von Vestra,” Ferdinand von Aegir said, smiling brilliantly. “So we meet again! Dorothea told me she’d seen you here, but I’ll admit that I did not believe her until I noticed you myself. I feel rather ashamed—I wish I could have realized that you were in attendance beforehand and extended to you my welcome and gratitude.”

Hubert stiffened, rising to his feet.

This was not in the plan. Precisely, this went against one of the cardinal rules of the plan: avoid Ferdinand at all costs.

“It was not out of personal interest, I assure you,” Hubert sneered, trying to suppress the cold anxiety filling his chest. “I acted only in the service of my political duty. Empress Edelgard required me to look into some of the goings on of this place; I merely followed her orders.”

Ferdinand’s cheerful disposition faltered. “Oh,” he said, his voice small and disappointed. “Well, that is only natural. You are her devoted advisor, after all.” Pausing for a moment, he continued in a brighter fashion, “I hope nonetheless that you enjoyed our shows. I would be quite disappointed to discover that you derived no pleasure from the experience.”

“Then I must apologize for disappointing you,” Hubert shot back immediately. “For I, as you alleged previously, have never been one for the arts.”

Ferdinand’s smile fell completely now.

“What is it about me that angers you so?” he asked, mouth twisting in pain. “Have I done you wrong in some way? It seems to me that when we’ve crossed paths of late you find my presence insufferable. I thought that we could relate to one another—you, too, have followed a path different from your intended, I know that much about politics despite what you may believe—but clearly, this isn't the case. I have evidently overestimated our capacity for friendship.” Offering a stiff bow, he said, “Good night, Hubert,” and rushed off down the stairs, out of sight but far from out of mind.

Letting out a deep, weary sigh, Hubert slumped back into his seat, his heart heavy in his chest. 

That had not gone well.

* * *

From the comfort of his chambers later that night, Hubert paced up and down, thinking. He was angry—at Ferdinand, for being so direct with him, but mostly at his own silence in the face of what were admittedly truthful accusations. Of course this grudge against Ferdinand was pointless and stupid; Hubert bore no true lingering resentment from their time spent together at the Academy.

And as for his fixation… Hubert was not so blind that after being confronted with Ferdinand so close a second time he did not realize its origin. Unfortunately, he had an inclination that it was rather more a matter of the heart than one of the head, much as it pained him to admit.

But now he’d managed to ruin things with Ferdinand so badly that he doubted the man would even be willing to meet with him as friends, let alone under the pretense of something more developing later. How was Hubert supposed to explain the rationale behind his actions? How could he produce the right string of words to soothe Ferdinand’s anger?

Honestly, he had no idea.

But…

Settling down at his desk, he withdrew some parchment and ink, and—despite his reservations—began to write.

* * *

The next evening, Hubert showed up as usual to the performance. He watched on, body as stiff as a board in his booth, his anxiety growing with every passing moment as the show bore ever closer to its conclusion. 

Finally, when the curtains descended, he made his way to the dressing room, feeling at once freezing and burning hot. His palms were sweating—was it strange that he was more nervous about this than he’d ever been during the war?

In front of the entrance to Ferdinand’s room, Dorothea was waiting, a bouquet of roses in hand. When she noticed Hubert, she gave him an unimpressed look, but nonetheless handed him the flowers. “Roses, as requested,” she said. “But know this, Hubie—if you hurt my precious Ferdie, they will _never_ find your body. I remember our operation just as well as you do, and believe me when I say I haven’t forgotten any of my tricks.”

Hubert swallowed, and nodded silently. 

When Dorothea winked and bustled out of the room, Hubert lifted his knuckles to the door and knocked three short raps on the hard surface.

After a few moments, it swung open and there Ferdinand was, dressed in simple linens, his long hair falling down his back.

Immediately, Hubert began speaking, the words tumbling out of him so fast he could hardly understand what he was saying. “Throughout my life, my presence at events has been seen as a necessity rather than a choice. More often than not I am simply accompanying Lady Edelgard or Lady Lysithea, and when I attend functions on my own I fear that I am viewed more as a nuisance than a guest.”

Ferdinand did not speak, but he did not shut the door, either, waiting for Hubert to finish _._

“Therefore…” Hubert continued, slow and careful now, “Though perhaps I do not deserve it, I humbly ask that you forgive me for my behavior. I have indeed been attending your performances, alone, because I find you breathtaking, Ferdinand.”

There was a long, deep silence, and then Ferdinand was smiling, his cheeks flushed and eyes gleaming.

Offering his hand to Hubert, he finally replied, “I appreciate your honesty, Hubert. And…the compliments, as well, I must admit are very pleasing to me.” He paused, and then said, a laugh in his throat, “I will acquire better seats for you tomorrow night, if you would like the opportunity to think of more pretty words to bestow upon me as an apology.”

Hubert, his heart swelling with joy, leaned down, pressing a kiss to Ferdinand’s glove. “A fine deal, indeed.”

  
  
  



End file.
